


Wanna Show You

by mamey2422



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, GGPAT2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamey2422/pseuds/mamey2422
Summary: For the @goodgirlsficrecs prompt-a-thon (#29): Beth, by some convoluted scheme, has to strip at Stan’s club and Rio is HERE FOR IT. Even better, if he gets frustrated with other men responding positively to Beth’s performance, maybe some of Rio’s guys? So he had to give them the business while also pretending to not really give a shit and being generally unimpressed. In the end, they all know Elizabeth Boland is OFF LIMITS.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 38
Kudos: 436
Collections: Good Girls Prompt-a-thon 2020





	Wanna Show You

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to @hereliesbethboland for getting me unstuck. And to whoever submitted this amazing prompt. I hope you enjoy this! Title pulled from Dance for You lyrics by Beyoncé.

Beth was a good liar. Lying came naturally to her and she thought of it as a sixth sense. There was a difference between telling a lie and making a lie believable. The art of it always came down to detail. Too little specificity and you invited suspicion. Too much and it was obvious you were trying too hard.

She learned early the power of bending the truth, how critical it could be to survival. Like when she was barely a teenager and had to call their landlord pretending to be her mom, ask for a few more days to pay rent. Or explaining to the school principle that the weed in Annie’s locker was planted even though Beth knew it was her sister’s as soon as she saw the South Park pipe. Slowly but surely, lying stitched itself into the fiber of how she she existed.

The trait became even more important as a criminal. She was pregnant, had an STD, had sex on her kitchen table with a gang leader. All of these lies kept her choices from catching up with her, kept her from hurtling off the invisible cliff she always seemed to be hovering over.

Some lies were harmless. Like with Dean. Letting him believe the spa business was totally legitimate made her life easier, made him happy. Win-win. Other times, there was collateral damage. Like Lucy. Like the strange way Rio looked at her when she told him she lost the fake baby.

When walls started closing in on her Beth was good at thinking on her feet, bobbing and weaving from the truth, from the consequences of her lies. So when a federal agent knocked on her door, a short man who reminded Beth of George from Seinfeld, asked what she was doing at Sweet P’s on the same day a fire broke out in an armored bank truck, her instincts kicked in.

“I work there,” Beth answered, willing her voice to steady as Agent Turner flashed in her mind. She refused to have someone else breathing down her neck, to start poking holes in the foundation that was just starting to solidify around her spa business. She skipped right over the straying husband lie that she’d used on the driver. The agent would have already known about that and clearly was still digging.

This was when the art of the lie mattered. Striking the right balance between subtlety and exaggeration would be the difference between squashing this or letting it fester. And when she saw the agent’s eyebrows shoot up Beth knew she’d hit the right nerve, could see him asking himself why someone like her would lie about something like that.

The agent asked follow up question after follow up question, just doing his job, and Beth had an answer for each one. Lie after lie flowing out. _Part time_. _Just getting started_. _Went there to catch my husband, ended up liking what I saw_. _Female empowerment, you know_? _Need to make some extra money_. _Of course you can follow up with the club_. _I’ll be there myself on Saturday_.

Beth had been on autopilot over since, never fully comprehending what she’d said or done or would need to do. The first step was to call Ruby, who called Stan, who called Krystal. A few more phone calls later, a trip to the lingerie store and a fresh bikini wax, everything was checked off her list. Only when Beth walked to the entrance of Sweet P’s that weekend did her heart start to skip a beat, her stomach start to knot.

The club took on a different personality at night. In daylight it was a harmless brick building. Under the moon, the pink pin up girl logo and neon lights made it feel forbidden. Like the curtained off section of the video rental store that Beth never had the courage to peak into. A blast of cold air hit her as she walked through the door, the air conditioner running full force even though the weather was cool.

“Hey honey, how are you?” Krystal greeted her with a hug, stretching out each word of her question as if singing them. She was in full makeup but still in jeans and a T-shirt, vanilla perfume wafting around her. 

Krystal didn’t ask for details when Stan came to her for help, asked if she could get a friend onto the schedule, give her a crash course on stripping. Of course, she said. A friend of Stanimal’s was a friend of hers. She could sense a secret churning behind his favor, a hint of trouble, but Krystal didn’t pry. Living in the grey area of right and wrong was something she knew well, never judged. Besides, Onyx was doing a private show at a client’s house, some rich dude who had monkeys for pets, so there was an opening in the schedule anyway. And as long as the girls kept the seats filled and drinks flowing, the owner didn’t care who took the stage.

“I’ll show you the front of the house,” she said, pulling Beth down a long red hallway.

“What’s with the A/C?” Beth finally asked. “It’s freezing in here.”

“It gets really hot on stage. Plus, keeps the nips at attention.” Krystal pinched the tips of her breasts. 

Beth had never been in a strip club before so what she knew of them came from movies, and there ended up being a lot of accuracy in her mental images. Mirror paneled walls, dark colors and low lighting. A long bar lined the back, facing a brightly lit stage at the front of the room, a gold pole gleaming from the middle of the catwalk. Tables lined the stage, some large ones, some just big enough to hold a couple of drinks. Beth pictured rowdy bachelor parties, whooping and hollering before the big day. Or two co-workers quietly letting off some steam at the end of a rough week. The room didn’t have the most modern decor but everything looked clean and well kept.

“It’s not a bad place to work. They take good care of us here,” Krystal said, as if reading Beth’s mind.

Krystal showed Beth the break room where she immediately eyed the infamous safe in the corner. How strange that this ordinary space, where people microwaved their lunch and played dominoes, was the linchpin to crime. Their final stop was a small dressing room with the same red brick walls as the break room but lined with a vanity counter and cluttered with the tools of the job. Lingerie, heels, makeup, curling irons, blow dryers and bottles of every shape and color.

“You can get ready here,” Krystal patted an empty chair. “Next to me. The girls will start coming in around nine so we’ll have time to practice.”

“I made sure you got the slot after mine. I’ll get the crowd nice and warmed up for you,” Krystal continued with a wink. “And no touching allowed, so don’t worry about that. Unless you want to. Then take it to the VIP room.”

“That won’t be happening,” Beth assured her, flustered by the thought.

“Did you pick a song?”

“This one.” Beth fiddled with her phone until she found what she was looking for, holding it up to Krystal.

“Dance for You. Queen Bey. I love it.” Krystal nodded her approval. “Beyhive for life.”

When Krystal told her to pick a song that made her feel powerful and sexy, Beth scrolled endlessly through Spotify, struggling to connect with anything. She almost settled on Private Dancer by Tina Turner until she put on her Beyoncé playlist. The slow beat and lustful lyrics plugged into the hidden places inside her, made her imagine dancing for someone. She ignored the dark, sharp features of the person who stubbornly flashed in her mind.

“And your outfit? Did you bring what we talked about?”

“Right here.” Beth lifted the bag she carried in with her.

“Perfect. Get ready and then we’ll do a dry run. Okay?”

“Thanks.” Beth smiled, grateful for Krystal’s kindness. For acting as if helping a stranger learn how to strip for a secret reason was completely normal. Krystal took her job seriously, talked a lot about the psychology of stripping, from what customers looked for to what she did to make sure she felt her best. Behind the vocal fry and gum chewing was a very smart and considerate woman.

An hour later Beth looked at herself in the mirror, an alter ego reflecting back at her. Dark smoky eyeshadow and shiny peach lipstick replaced her usually neutral pallette. Her hair as wavy and voluminous as she could get it. Krystal gave her the same advice for her outfit as she did for the music. Powerful and sexy. Her black satin bustier was just that. The structured boning emphasized her hourglass figure. She’d spent hours at the lingerie store finding the right one, the right fit. As she turned left and right in the mirror, Beth remembered how reverently Dean described Gayle’s body, how opposite it was of her own. Instead of ‘perfectly sized boobs,’Beth’s cleavage was barely contained by the cups of the bustier. She wouldn’t want it any other way.

The woman at the lingerie store showed her dozens of thongs and G-strings, but Beth chose sheer boy shorts with a lace pattern that created an enticing invitation to stare between her legs. Black thigh high stockings and a garter belt showcased the flare of her hips. Her toes protested the four inch heels Krystal insisted on, but Beth had to admit they completed the look, just as Krystal said they would. Beth put on a loose man’s blue button down shirt and draped a blue tie she stole from Dean’s closet around her neck.

Checking the time, Beth exhaled slowly, wiped her sweaty palms against her thighs, remembering too late about the oil that Krystal had given her to slick onto her skin. It was almost showtime. Never in a million years could Beth have imagined taking off her clothes in front of a crowd of leering men. But there’d been a time not too long ago when she never could have imagined robbing a grocery store. Or shooting another person. Or unburying a dead body. Her boundaries were shifting and, disturbingly enough, stripping seemed to fall on the tamer end of her limits.

Beth took the small shot of tequila Krystal left for her to help with the jitters, and walked to the wings of the stage to peak into the crowd. The club was full now, everyone focused on Krystal, the sequins of her hot pink burlesque outfit sparkling in the spotlight. Her body was beautiful and toned, her motions fluid. She swayed her hips and whipped her hair to the beat of Lady Marmalade, easily hypnotizing the men as she removed one piece of clothing at a time. When the chorus hit, Krystal dropped to her knees, slithered her body down onto the floor so that her ass was in the air. Effortlessly, she grabbed the pole and twirled around it with just one leg, landing with her body in perfect position for the surrounding men to put bills into her G-string.

Beth started hyperventilating, her breath shortening, her heart racing, as the reality of what she was about to do hit her in the gut. Before she could make a run for it, Krystal walked off stage, a sheen of sweat on her body. 

“Good crowd tonight,” she said as she joined Beth, taking her robe from another dancer. “You look uh-mazing. Just remember what we practiced. And don’t forget, when you’re on stage you have all the power. Not them. You got this.”

Suddenly, the house lights lowered. Beth barely heard the DJ announce her name over her thundering heartbeat. Sasha, she told them to use, after Beyoncé’s alter ego.

The music started but Beth only heard white noise, only stepped on stage when Krystal gave her a light smack on the ass and a small push forward. The blazing white spotlight immediately blinded her, and for one hysterical second Beth completely froze. She blinked furiously, desperate to focus her vision, her senses. Her eyes darted around the room but found only shadows and highlights. She spotted Krystal off to the side, smiling her encouragement, giving her a thumbs up.

Beth’s skin flamed with embarrassment, her stomach churned violently. Not now Beth, she scolded herself. Now was not the time to let everything fall apart. She’d come too far, done too much to let one simple dance be the domino to fall. She didn’t need to be perfect. All she needed to do was get through the next three minutes and make her lie a reality, get the fed off her trail. She closed her eyes, tried to find a calm, peaceful place in her mind, tried to breathe through the light-headed sensation tickling across her scalp.

Krystal’s voice replayed in Beth’s mind, coaching her through the routine. _Feel the music, roll your hips, smile, act like there’s no where else you’d rather be_.

Even though her legs were shaky, from nerves, from the heels, Beth did exactly that, focusing on the rhythmic percussion of the song. Trembling fingers undid the loose knot on her tie, shimmied the strip of silk behind her shoulders before whipping it into the cheering crowd. She moved slowly toward the pole, unbuttoning her shirt as she went, using the hip-rolling walk Krystal shower her.

Beth could make out the tables now, filled with men of all different ages and backgrounds, reflecting the universal appeal of women dancing naked. The room was noisy and crowded but her gaze suddenly froze on one person. Rio.

A shiver jolted up her spine when their eyes locked. Dozens of men were staring at her, but only Rio looked at her as if he actually saw her. Her legs tensed but she managed to turn it into a twirl to avoid tripping. Mick was with him. So was the guy who’d been there to take Boomer but whose name she didn’t know.

Had he found out about her plan and come to make her feel foolish? Was he a regular? Was she the one invading his stomping grounds? His controlled expression gave nothing away, but she could sense something working behind his eyes. Flutters of excitement and defiance started to displace her mortification as his gaze scorched a trail up and down her body.

Rio silently cursed at what he was seeing. Who he was seeing. The black high heels caught his eye first, their slight stumble onto the stage. A small detail, but he was an active observer of the in-between moments that most people missed. Rio didn’t spend a lot of time in strip clubs, but he knew dancers, good ones at least, rarely took a misstep, always maximized every motion to make the most money. He could appreciate that.

A sense of familiarity tingled in his chest as his eyes moved from the perfectly arched feet to shapely long legs, the lace of the stockings tempting his eyes farther up over the button-down shirt that teased at irresistible cleavage. It hit him all at once. He knew it was Beth before seeing her face. He’d kissed every inch of her naked skin once before, but it wasn’t her body that hammered him with recognition. It was the delicate confidence, the modest swagger of her dance. It was the way she was pretending to be something, someone, she wasn’t and have everyone buy it. It’s what she did best.

Even the plain clothes federal agent sitting two tables behind him looked impressed. Gretchen filled Rio in about the whispers she’d heard, told him to stay under the radar. When Mick’s surveillance led him to the strip club, Rio expected an opportunity to check out the fed in person, see who was stirring up trouble, maybe get some blackmail material. He never expected Beth writhing on stage in a beautiful, confusing punch to the gut.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He also couldn’t focus, his brain short circuiting, unable to process the sensory overload, unable to comprehend what she was up to, unable to avoid getting turned on. Her pink pouty lips, smoldering blue eyes were hotter than anything she wore, and she seemed to be glowing, as if she loved being the center attention. Or maybe just his. He’d been so stingy with giving it to her for so long.

“Your girl got moves,” Mick said, appreciatively raising his beer in a toast when Beth did a slow body roll.

Rio let his ice cold glare speak for itself, turning back to the stage without responding. Mick sheepishly lowered his bottle. Rio was quiet and still in his chair, slowly drinking his bourbon, but he was ready to jump out of his skin at the men throwing money at Beth, trying to tuck bills into her garter belt. His knuckles were white around his glass, holding back the urge to break every finger on every groping hand.

Carlos, sitting on the other side of the table, was so enthralled by Beth’s performance that he didn’t notice Rio’s possessive mood, tense shoulders, locked jaw. Carlos whistled and cat called and kept throwing bills. When Mick saw Carlos lean into Rio with a mischievous grin, about to dig himself into a hole with some color commentary about Beth, Mick caught his eye and swiped his hand across his neck. Kill it, he silently gestured, nodding for them to go to the bar to give their boss some space.

Slowly, even with Rio watching her, maybe because of it, Beth relaxed into the dance. Motion and emotion connected together in the simple choreography Krystal showed her. Swaying to the beat of the song, grinding against the pole, bending over to touch her ankles and wiggle her hips. When she whipped back up she zeroed in on Rio, twirling around the pole, meeting his eyes with every turn. Biting her lip, Beth shrugged off her shirt and threw it at him, the crowd cheering as more of her body was revealed. But Rio remained still, barely even blinking as the shirt landed on his lap.

Beth sank to her knees, holding onto the pole with one hand, her legs spread wide. _Put your hands where they want their hands to be_ , Krystal told her. Beth arched her back so her hair touched the floor behind her, her breasts thrust high, her free hand tracing the cups of her bustier, grazing over her fluttering stomach, dipping behind the edge of her panties.

Beth stood up, uncoiling her body as if snake charmed. She faced Rio, held his eyes, as she unclasped her bustier. Not too fast, not too slow, just right so the audience didn’t lose interest. But Beth only cared about one person in the room. When the last snap was loose, she tantalized the crowd by holding the edges of the material together. When she finally let it go, when she was topless, Beth wasn’t embarrassed, didn’t notice the rush of cold air that tightened her skin, didn’t hear the volume of the crowd double. All she saw, felt, noticed, wanted was Rio. 

Everything around him faded into a blur while the heat of his stare stroked her, ignited little fires on her lips, neck, breasts, hips, legs. She touched herself again, brushing her fingers wherever his eyes landed, putting her hands where she wanted Rio’s to be. Circling the pole one more time, Beth did a leg hook spin, the front of her body on full display in her grand finale.

When the song ended, the DJ’s booming voice brought reality crashing down onto Beth, breaking the spell she’d fallen under. The crowd’s applause told her she’d pulled it off, but she didn’t bask in it, didn’t want to. She bolted off the stage, covering her body with her arms even though no real stripper would do that. Sagging against the wall she tried to catch her breath, aware that her wobbly legs and pounding heart could only be partially blamed on exertion.

“You did amazing, hun. And you forgot your tips,” Krystal squealed with excitement as she handed Beth a robe and a wad of bills that had been thrown onto the stage. “You had a really good night.”

“Thanks.” Beth flipped through the dollar bills, mentally calculating how many fake tens they could be turned into.

“You have a customer waiting for you in the VIP room.”

“What?” Beth practically shrieked at the concept. “No. I can’t do that. That’s not....no...I was just supposed to dance. One dance.”

“It’s okay, honey. I can tell Big Mike to find someone else,” Krystal rubbed Beth’s back, soothing her through her overreaction. “Sapphire would love the extra money. But the guy asked for you. I guess you know him? Said his name was Rio.”

Beth didn’t know what Rio was doing at the club, but she couldn’t face him. She could barely face what she’d just done. Krystal described stripping like moving between fantasy and reality and for a moment on that stage, with the weight of Rio’s gaze on her, she’d lost her balance. She wanted nothing more than to put it all behind her. But Rio would never let that happen, popping up whenever, wherever he wanted. Might as well rip off the bandaid.

“I’ll be right there,” Beth said.

Girls were already removing makeup, combing out hair, and changing into street clothes when Beth got to the dressing room. She sat at the vanity and stared at her reflection. Flushed cheeks, eyes a little wild, hair a tousled mess. She looked as if she just had sex. But her body, coiled tight on stage, still ached with a sharp, unfulfilled need.

Beth pulled herself together, got back into her bustier and freshened her makeup. As ready as she’d ever be, Krystal gave her a quick rundown while they walked to the VIP room. Private rooms were ‘full contact’ but Big Mike would be right outside the door. If anything happened that Beth didn’t want to, press the button by the couch and he’d be there in a second. _Easy peasy_ , she’d said. Beth smirked at the thought of anything with Rio ever being easy.

Beth carefully stepped through the door, Big Mike already standing guard, pushing aside a curtain of prism beads hanging from the low ceiling. The same dark decor of the main stage extended into the VIP room. Black velour benches with matching tufted backs lined three full walls, creating a cocoon of plushness. A chandelier with small lampshades cast a delicate glow of red. More prism beads draped its frame, catching the light with little glimmers.

Rio sat in the corner, blending into the shadows with his black jeans, black shirt, dark enigmatic eyes.

“That was some performance, Elizabeth.” Rio broke the silence first, the quietness of his voice sending a shiver through her body.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Beth matched his causal tone as she stepped forward so she could see him more clearly. “Come here often?”

“No,” Rio said with a shake of his head, pout of his lip. “But I heard they have the best Caesar salad. Thought I’d check it out.” 

Rio hated Caesar salads. But he loved answers. And he wanted to know what Beth was doing on that stage. He also loved pushing her buttons. He could connect dots. It wasn’t coincidence that Beth and the fed were in the same strip club at the same time. But making her squirm a little bit was part of the fun. The fact still remained that she shot him three times and he didn’t always feel like playing nice.

“What are you doing here?” Beth finally asked, temper flaring.

“I’m a paying customer. I’m here for a private dance,” Rio relaxed into the bench, stretched his arms along the backrest.

“Is this about the FBI?” Beth didn’t have the energy to be coy or the deference to defend herself. A problem presented itself and she fixed it. He should be thanking her. 

“You tell me.”

Beth’s eyes flashed at Rio’s non-answer. He was messing with her again, toying with her, making a point with one of his vague, twisted lessons. Maybe about playing with fire. Didn’t he know that he was the most dangerous thing in her life? Couldn’t he see the third degree burns on her soul?

An urge to dominate, to prove Rio wrong, pulsed through her, mixed with the arousal that lingered from her dance. She stared at Rio for a long second, then another, then walked to the iPod plugged into the corner where Krystal told her she’d find it. _Pick number three, all the guys love it_ , she’d said. Beth didn’t recognize the song, the beat and breathy lyrics quickly fading into the background when she turned toward Rio.

Beth never lap danced before, not even when she and Dean were at their best, their most playful. But lack of experience never stopped her.

She started swaying her hips to the music, raising her arms over her head, running her fingers through her hair. She splayed her hands on her ribs and slowly slid them up over her breasts, then down to the inside of her thighs, dragging the hem of her shirt up. Images of Rio’s hands on her, larger and rougher than her own, reeled through her mind. Beth closed her eyes, let the fantasy warm her, loosen her. Taking her time, she gradually inched closer and closer to to Rio. She was rewarded with a small bite of his lower lip, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.

It was happening again, the blurring of reality and fantasy, truth and lies, what was real and what wasn’t. But Beth didn’t care. All she cared about was how her body felt alive, surged with tingles, pulsed with need. All because of him.

Hypnotized by her slow, rhythmic movements, Rio’s eyes never wavered from Beth. He’d expected her to storm out of the room, maybe throw something at his head on her way out. He should have known better. She never fucking backed down. Neither did he.

The music quieted the instant Beth straddled Rio’s lap, wicked possibilities vibrating in the combustible silence. For several seconds the only sound in the room was their breathing, heavy and in sync.

Rio kept his arms on the bench as if indifferent, but his body gave him away. His leg muscles tightened, his hips shifted, his abs contracted, his jaw clenched. Beth brushed a finger along his face, soothing him. The tender gesture caught Rio off guard, but her touch released his own, his hands darting to her thighs, fingers flexing into her soft skin.

Moving on instinct, Beth rested her hands on his shoulders and slowly rolled her hips with the music, grinding against him, arching her back, her chest brushing his with every upward sweep. The way he smelled, the way he felt, the way he looked at her with wonder dragged remnants of passionate memories to the surface. Being bent over a sink, tender kisses in her bedroom. She gripped his shirt a tightly as if holding him in place, desperate to satisfy this craving inside her before it all went away. Liquid heat flooded every cell of her body, settled between her legs. She could feel Rio was just as affected, his erection thick and inviting even through his jeans.

Rio swallowed, fighting the dryness in his throat, fighting the lust slamming into him, fighting for any last semblance of control. Beth’s intoxicating citrusy scent, her thighs squeezing his, her body up close and personal, those black heels. It all made his head swim. The line he’d been so determined to keep between them blurred so fast, evaporated into thin air. Now that it was gone all he was left with was the truth. Beth never was just business. Never would be. 

His fingers travelled up her legs as she rocked against him, lingering at the lace of her stockings, tracing a fingertip lightly over the sheer fabric of her panties where he knew she’d be most sensitive, curving his hands to her ass, squeezing. Her warm, pliant body was like water, her softness gliding against his hardness. He wanted to touch her more, everywhere, remembering what it was like to have his lips all over her, to drive her wild with his fingers, hands, tongue. But this was her show. He was just there to watch. 

“Want to help me with my shirt?” She asked, brushing her lips against his ear so she could whisper it.

Rio began undoing the buttons but kept his eyes on hers, noticed the small shiver, his or hers he wasn’t sure, when she let the shirt fall down her arms, drop to the floor.

“This too?” he murmured, tracing a finger down the front of the bustier that perfectly displayed her cleavage.

Beth nodded, her lips parted open. Rio released each clasp slowly, one by one, his knuckles brushing against the warm tempting skin underneath until the satin fell away, revealing her body to him.

They hovered there as time slowed, his warm breath feathering over her skin, her hands resting lightly on his chest. When he pushed her hair out of her face with an intimacy that made all the eroticism around them pale in comparison, Beth’s hips started rolling again. She wanted Rio’s lips on her, sucking and licking and teasing with his teeth. She wanted him inside her again, to ride him until she came in a blistering hot orgasm. The visuals, the fantasies took over, her hips moving harder and faster against him. Beth grabbed Rio’s hands, intertwining their fingers, and put them where she wanted them to be, cupping her breasts, rubbing them, her skin immediately tightening under their combined touch.

Pleasure, low and deep, twisted painfully tight between them. She was wet, he was hard. Something had to give. But neither of them were good at relenting. Her eyes dropped to his, and the message in them was so clear, the conclusion of this moment crystallizing so precisely, she could barely breathe.

“Do it, Elizabeth.” Rio didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, the desperation and need in it.

Beth couldn’t think straight, his words triggering something wild in her. Almost frantic, she unzipped his pants, wrapped her fingers around him, savored the hard, smooth feel of him for a only second before pushing her panties to the side and sinking down onto him.

Their movements became fevered, erratic mirrors of each other. A shudder wracked Beth’s body as he filled her, Rio absorbed it with a tremor of his own. Her nails dug desperately into his arms, his fingers pressed hard, demanding at her hips. She tightened her thighs against the building pleasure, Rio spread them wider to create more friction. She thrust down, he countered up. Her head leaned back, lost in pleasure, his fell forward into the softness of her skin.

Beth’s orgasm rushed through her, blindsiding her with such a forceful burst of heat and light that all she could do was gasp, let it wash over her. Rio buried his face into her neck, finally exhaling the long, shaky groan he’d tried so hard to hold in as his own release hurtled through him,

“Time’s up.” Big Mike’s knock at the door reverberated like a gunshot in the room.

Beth scrambled off Rio, sweaty, struggling for breath. Shaky legs and trembling hands working against her as she tried to put on her shirt. Rio stayed seated but zipped his pants, tried to blink his vision back into focus.

The withdrawal was immediate. Not just the physical separation of their bodies. The invisible wall between them that had been let down so briefly, was up again, each of them fiercely propping it up on opposite sides, pushing so hard against each other’s emotions they didn’t see how much energy they were wasting, how they were just exhausting each other.

It’s just what they did, who they were.


End file.
